


The One Less Travelled

by impossiblewanderings



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humour, Jefferson character study, and Jefferson portal-jumps, and Wonderland is seriously screwed up, and is a rogue and a rake and a rambler, in which there is drug-taking, spoilers for 2x05 'The Doctor'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblewanderings/pseuds/impossiblewanderings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Less Travelled

Jefferson is trudging along a ditch, shaking black mud from his boots (at least he hopes it’s mud, Gods know what else the little fiends had been flinging) when he happens to notice that a tree is staring at him.

His first thought is that he’s brought one of the imps with him through the hat, but this one is too large, dressed in spikes and dragon-leather, and grinning fit to split its head in two. It jumps down from the oak into his path, splattering him with dirty rainwater and leaf mulch. Its eyes are gold as a mad summer’s moon, and it wears its magic as easily as its sharp-edged coat, a great thundercloud that makes Jefferson’s hair stand on end.

“Now where did you come from?” It asks, and runs its claws along the strap of his hatbag.

“That is my business.” Jefferson replies, easily. But he smiles, just a little, for he is a showman born and he can read desire even in a face as odd as this one.

The creature giggles, and suddenly there is a piece of gold thread all twined about its fingers, bright in the encroaching dusk, a beautiful sight to a man drenched and footsore with no coins to pay for meat and board.

“I came from another realm. I was employed to take something.”

“And you were…successful?”

Jefferson looks the creature in the eyes.

“Always.”

Its eyes burn like brands as it extends a hand.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

Jefferson doesn’t hesitate. He takes it.

“Jefferson.”

* * *

 

“What is _that_?”

“It’s a harpy’s egg.”

“I know what a harpy’s egg looks like, dearie. I was the one that sent you to get it.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“The _problem_ is that it is no longer an egg. It’s just shell and mush.”

“I might have fallen on it while I was running from its parents.”

“Indeed. I needed an egg.”

“I just handed you one.”

“Ah. An _un_ broken one, dearie- what is that noise?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That noise. That breaking-glass, angry-screeching sort of noise.”

“Did I mention that some of the harpies followed me back through?”

* * *

 

Jefferson never questions Rumplestiltskin’s deals. He gets paid handsomely for his efforts, whether it’s to return with an item the magician requires or to playact for Rumplestiltskin’s gullible little apprentice. She is so much less than he expected, this Queen, all round dark eyes and knotted hands and so desperate to earn her master’s approval.

He lounges on a worktable nearby, and watches Rumplestiltskin spin his tale out of thin air, just as he spins his gold. How many threads he uses, and all twine to his liking! Jefferson does not mind being a string in Rumplestiltskin’s hands, because when that insufferable bore Victor Frankenstein returns to his monochrome world and his precious _science_ , he will remain: needed by the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms.

* * *

 

“Tell me about this girl you found.”

“Well, she was young. She didn’t come from Wonderland, I know that for certain. She was terrified.”

“How did she get in?”

“She said that she was dreaming. She…made me pinch her.”

“Oh, really?”

“Not like that! She was _convinced_ that I wasn’t real.”

“And what was her name, this lost little lamb of yours?”

“Alice. Her name was Alice.”

“And where do you think she came from?”

“I don’t know. It…must have been our world.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, it must have been. There are portals to Wonderland everywhere. The forest is riddled with them.”

“I’ve never encountered one.”

“They’re tricky. You have to know what to look for.”

“Well then. Take as much gold as you feel appropriate and leave. You’re trailing mushrooms all over the floor if you hadn’t noticed.”

* * *

 

Jefferson sits in the dirt, cradling the body of his wife. He is rocking still, back and forth in their ruin of a vegetable garden, the broken leaves of cabbages under his boots, trying to soothe the agony of a birth no longer coming.

“It’s all right, love. It’ll be all right.” He murmurs into her bedraggled golden hair, her limp palm cold against his, the rain slashing his eyes and cheeks. He had been screaming before, denials and horror into the storm, blinded by the great lightning strikes. Somewhere far away, a tree is smouldering, the sparks licking its trunk smothered in the rain.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and Jefferson jolts in shock. Alice’s hand slips from his, and lies pale against the rich black earth. The person above him is only a silhouette, but there is no mistaking the outline of the long coat he wears.

“Rumplestiltskin?”

“You called.” The magician tells him, but Jefferson cannot believe it. He doesn’t remember what he shouted at the fearsome sky, but that name… Surely he should recall saying _his_ name. He blinks the water from his eyes, and looks down at Alice, hair rippling about her head like a river-nymph.

“My wife…” He whispers, and the pain in his chest will squeeze the life from him by dawn, he can feel it. He will join Alice and their babe in the earth.

“Yes, she’s dead. I can see that. What do you want?”

Rumplestiltskin’s mocking tone drifts above him, and Jefferson cannot quite touch even the edge of rage where he sits numbly at the magician’s feet. He knows he should feel it, but the way to that bright anger is shut by the great heaviness of his limbs, the sluggish turn of his thoughts.

She is dead.

_She is dead._

“Bring her back.”

Rumplestiltskin sighs and bends over Alice’s body, drops of water from his curls scattering over her quiet face.

“You know I cannot.”

Jefferson closes his eyes and shivers, miserable, weary, allowing Death to settle on his bowed head. He opens them with only with an effort, as Alice’s body shifts beneath his hands. Rumplestiltskin is running his clever fingers over her swollen belly, a look of concentration on his scaled face.

“What are you doing?”

The magician rests his palm on the curved skin where Jefferson had so often placed his own, feeling for the movement of their child.

“The babe lives.”

“What?” He asks, incredulous, disbelieving, but Rumplestiltskin is rolling up his sleeves, pushing Jefferson away from Alice. A blade, conjured from nowhere, gleams in his fist. Jefferson can do very little. When he sees the blood, he stumbles forward, trying to shove the other man away, screaming at him to stop hurting her, and is flung away with no effort. Rumplestiltskin tells him not to be a fool, carefully pushing his claws inside the soft flesh, and Jefferson snaps, unable to bear the sight of Alice torn open, her blood pooling on the carrot stems.

He wakes inside their cottage. There is a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, and his clothes are steaming as they dry upon him. Jefferson heaves himself up from where he lies on the bed and Rumplestiltskin, down to bloodied shirt-sleeves and wet leather, turns to him with a tiny shape swaddled in the crook of his elbow.

“A daughter.” He says brusquely, dropping the babe into Jefferson’s arms.

Jefferson stares down at the tiny wrinkled face in awe. He barely notices as Rumplestiltskin walks past, pulling on his dragon-coat, and pauses at the door.

“Did you have a name prepared?”

“Grace.” He says, and catches a flailing pink fist with his finger.

“A fine name.”

Then he is gone, back out into the storm, leaving Jefferson hunched over the tiny warm body of his living daughter.

* * *

 

“There’s a man. His name is Mr. Gold. Find him. All you have to do is tell him where you’ve been and that Regina locked you up. He’s going to protect you, but you have to tell him that Regina locked you up. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I have to find Mr. Gold.”

As the girl leaves, stumbling a little on her wasted limbs, Jefferson smiles. A debt finally repaid. Now for Grace, and the war.


End file.
